Song of the Earth: Book Four of the Firebird's Daughter series

by Kyrja

  His grandmother had taught him about the Song, preparing him and his cousin, Fanaan, for the day when they would surrender together. She had waited until he was old enough to understand what choice he was making when he surrendered, and he’d been grateful she had waited for him. He had been more than ready when she had told him it was time, and Fanaan had been too. She had been older than him by three years. It was almost painful to have to wait, to keep turning away from the captivating harmony of the Song when it reached out to him. To this day, he couldn’t understand how anyone could turn away. Nor why they would want to. And yet, he knew he owed a debt of gratitude to those who did.

  Joojinta. That’s what they were called. What he had been called before he’d ever known what it meant. Nagy’ is what he had called his grandmother; an affectionate term for “grandmother” borrowed from their ancestors from a land he had never seen. Nagy’, too, had been a Joojinta. For many years, while she had waited for him and Fanaan to be old enough to choose for themselves. Although she had rarely spoken of it, Yakuza knew Nagy’ had been terribly sad when her son, Suket, had taken his own life because he couldn’t hear the Song. He had wanted to be able to hear it in the worst way possible and had been overjoyed when Fanaan could. ‘Yapa and Nagy’ had argued about it many times. ‘Yapa was angry that Nagy’ was being selfish by even thinking of surrendering to the Song when she should have been spending her life teaching her children and grandchildren other things instead. Yakuza knew he would never understand how his ‘Yapa could have felt so angry that they all wanted to go when he, too, could hear the Song of the Earth. He should have come with them.

  Fanaan’s mother had left after Suket had died, saying she would not fight Nagy’ when her husband had wanted nothing so much as he had wanted to be a Singer. Fanaan had cried when her mother left, but had told him she would have surrendered to the Song without him and Nagy’ if she had been made to go anyway. His own mother had run away with a baby in her belly because she was so sad that her brother had died and had blamed ‘Yapa for it. It wasn’t very long after that when Nagy’ said it was time for the three of them to surrender to the Song. Yakuza had been happy to be able to leave all the sorrow behind him.

  He had forgotten much of what happened during that time – and most of everything else he had experienced as a human boy – until he had awoken one day to find himself above the mantle again, with three Joojinta surrounding him. It had been a very frightening time for him. He’d felt alone, cold, sick, and miserable. More scared than anything. But they had helped him to remember how to live again. The most-disconcerting thing had been not being able to feel the Song vibrating within his bones like he’d been able to before he had surrendered. He’d been warned it would be this way, but there had simply been no way to prepare himself for such naked loneliness. And nothing at all to compare the experience to, so that he might have some hope or shred of confidence he would survive the madness.

  The Joojinta had helped by wrapping him in their arms and singing to him, or humming. Sometimes Akilah would even chant. She was the one closest to his human age. The others were older, two men and a woman. One day he might remember their names, or may recognize them in the Song if they surrender before their human bodies died. If the Song was a place he was even welcome any more.

  It should have been a small, easy task to add these people to the harmony, especially since they were willing, and because his grandfather was bridging the gap between the living and the dead. As a Joojinta, he could have chosen any moment of any day to surrender, but even now, he resisted. Yakuza wondered what would happen when he stopped singing. Would they all find themselves beneath the mantle, a part of the new Song, or would they arrive safe and sound within the Second Circle of Jikangai? Or would they all, in truth, die? Sighing to himself, he adjusted the pitch of the note he was singing to match the vibrations surrounding them. It was a new Song and he must learn to sing it. Their lives all depended on it.

  * * * * * * * *

  “I don’t feel dead.” Tyran was both startled and relieved to hear her own voice. In the next moment, though, she realized she couldn’t see anything at all. She was surrounded by utter darkness. And in the next, she realized she couldn’t feel her own body. A cascade of terrifying thoughts and images ran quickly through her mind as she envisioned herself being nothing more than a disembodied voice for the rest of her … life? eternity? She screamed out, hearing her voice fall flat in the darkness.

  No! she heard herself gasp. This is exactly what she had been afraid of all those years ago when her boy-self had met Kenshi with her overpowering onion breath. While she may not be exactly “buried alive,” as she had always feared, she was lost to herself. Buried in darkness. Alone. Terrified. Was she buried alive? How would she know if she was? Wouldn’t she feel a horrible weight pushing down on her? Wouldn’t she be able to feel the dirt with her hands? In an automatic gesture, she buried her face in her hands, feeling a sob rising within her. Then she realized she could feel a pressure on her face. Her hands! She could feel her hands on her face! Well, not exactly, but it was something. She couldn’t feel her hands, nor – exactly – her face, but she could feel the pressure against the part of her she knew to be her face. Feeling along her jawline, she followed it up to her right ear, then pinched her ear. Hard. She felt it! She had no idea what to do with this information, nor how it could help her, but somehow, it gave her hope that she still had some control over what would happen to her. And she could feel herself breathing now; her chest was rising and falling. Had she always felt it, but had been unaware of it, because it was something she took for granted, or had she only just now begun to be able to feel it?

  There! The Song! She could hear it! She felt a shiver of fear run a cold finger up her spine. It was coming for her. And she was afraid. It would consume her, leaving her with no memories of who she’d been or what she had done. She knew that much, if nothing more. If she let it, she knew the Song would erase everything about her, making her into someone – some thing – else. If she could feel her face, would she be able to feel her feet? Would she be able to run? Or, at least, walk away? With fear threatening to choke her non-existent throat, she wondered if she would she have to crawl away? Was it possible, or would the Song of the Earth find her no matter where she went?

  She felt her body start to tremble and realized, with alarm, that it was her bones which were vibrating. She could feel them! They were somehow connected to the Song. She thought she might cry, she was so afraid. The music was louder now, surrounding her. She didn’t want to hear it, but it was rushing through her now, and she could feel every bit of her body. Every curve, each finger, even the tip of her nose. As if she was being molded by the melody. The harmony was lovely, but she hated it just the same. Tyran didn’t want to die, but didn’t know what to do to stay alive.

  * * * * * * * *

  Vory was disgusted. She’d been dead too many times to think she was now. She was alone in a desert, with the hot sun overhead, that was very different from the one she’d just left. This one was filled with shoals and rock formations. The one she’d been in standing had been nothing but sand. She shook her head wondering what kind of trickery this could possibly be. Some kind of illusion, no doubt. And for what purpose? She wondered if she was supposed to be frightened. There was no life and no water. No people. Nothing. Was she supposed to accomplish something, or maybe try to walk to some place in particular? This was a stupid kind of puzzle with no clues. If she just sat down and waited for something to happen, would something happen, or would she be stuck here, alone, for the rest of her life? Was it a test of some sort? Or maybe – and here she snorted out loud – a representation of her own life? Empty and meaningless. As soon as she had the thought, she knew she was right. Her life was just as pointless as this whole desert all around her.

  And this time she had purposefully tried to make a difference. To make a decision and an impact. She had come with all of these strange people so she could fi
nally strike a blow against the gods. But in this … place, this false desert, she wasn’t going to have the chance to do anything.

  “Are you afraid of me?” she called out, daring whoever had put her here to respond. “Come out and face me, you cowards!” she yelled. “I’m not afraid of you!” She was surprised to discover she truly wasn’t. Just disgusted and angry. “Fine,” she muttered under her breath. “I’ll play your stupid game.” And she started walking – without even having chosen a direction. She just started moving forward in the direction she had happened to have been facing. She had only walked a few steps when she heard it. Music. But it was different than what the boy and his grandfather had been singing. This sounded more like many people joined together to create a very specific sound. But there was another sound too. And some kind of vibration from the ground.

  Looking around, she spotted it – a storm was coming. And it was coming quickly, already towering high into the sky. She felt a pit in her stomach open wide. She was going to die again, she just knew it. Before she had a chance to make the gods pay for their cruelty. If she was angry before, now she was furious. She started running, but not before she shouted out, “Catch me if you can, you bastards!”

  * * * * * * * *

  With disbelief etched deeply into the features of her face, Ceirat watched as her hands became larger, with hair sprouting from her knuckles. She felt the dress she was wearing become tighter across her chest, and her arms were being pinched by the sleeves that were now too tight. She felt a shiver of revulsion and anger ripple through her; she was becoming a man again. At least her body was. There was nothing that would ever convince her she was a man in truth. Not the beard that was suddenly growing out she could feel by rubbing her hand against her cheek, not the timbre or tone of her voice, nor even the penis between her legs that was, even now, beginning to stiffen, as if in protest of its long lack of use. She was a woman and would stay a woman no matter what she looked like, nor how many erections her body produced.

  Looking up from her hands, she was surprised to find herself back in Midbar. And alarmed to find herself in front of her childhood home. Weren’t they supposed to be going to Jikangai? Why was she here? And why was she alone? She opened her mouth to call for the others when the front door opened and her father walked out, as if he was in a hurry to go somewhere. Her dead father. So this was an illusion, or a dream. Something the Song had created to terrify her. Or maybe it was a test of some sort. Fine. She had laid those fears to rest a long time ago. Her father was dead. He couldn’t hurt her any more. Now if only my heart would stop beating so fast, she thought.

  “Ceirat!” her father called out, stopping in his tracks. “What are you doing here? And why are you wearing those clothes?” He shook his head, as he’d done so many times during her childhood. “You know everyone is going to make fun of you. Why won’t you listen to me?”

  “I make my own choices, father,” Ceirat replied, determined to remain calm. She’d had years of practice in keeping herself aloof from others. This man had no right to take her choices away from her. She’d had to obey his rules when she was a child, but she hadn’t been a child in a very long time.

  “How can you expect anyone to take you seriously when you’re wearing a dress and a beard? Don’t you know how ridiculous you look? I warned you this would happen, and now it has. Come into the house and change. Let me help you,” he urged, with a frown.

  “I am well-respected for my skills, father, no matter how I look. You’re only afraid people will make fun of you. That they will judge you for the way I look. That isn’t anything I’m concerned with,” Ceirat replied, breathing deeply, making sure her shoulders were squared, and her chin was raised.

  “Just answer one question for me, son,” her father said, spreading his legs and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Why would you want to be a woman? Do you even know the answer to that?”

  “Yes,” Ceirat started, having asked herself the same question hundreds of times. This was something she knew the answer to without hesitation.

  “I mean, you’re a fairly handsome man, as these things go,” he interrupted her, “but you make a damn ugly woman. Why can’t you just try? Don’t you even care that people think you’re a freak? Doesn’t it matter to you that people talk behind your back and call you names?”

  “I …” she had answers to all of those questions, but he wouldn’t stop his barrage, and now he was walking towards her, anger written all over his face, as if he was unable to stop himself. He was in the grip of a lifetime of fury and didn’t care at all what her answers might be. He just wanted her to stop being who she was to be what he wanted her to be. As a child, she was terrified of him. If her heart rate was any indication, she thought she might still be.

  “That’s far enough,” she told him, willing herself to remain calm, but knew she was losing the battle. He was a danger to her. Unpredictable. Would he go so far as to try to hit her again after all this time? Would he really underestimate her?

  “How could you do this to your mother and me? Don’t you have any shame? How did you get to be so selfish? Doesn’t family mean anything to you?” he raged at her, balling his fists.

  “You’re dead! Stop this!” she screamed, all of the pent up emotions she’d buried long ago rushing forward without her conscious volition.

  “How dare you!” he roared, racing towards her, raising his fist.

  Ceirat felt herself gritting her teeth, clenching her own hands into fists. Then shook her head violently in disbelief as she watched her father’s body disintegrate as he rushed towards her. The tiny, multicolored pieces swirled apart, then rushed together towards her, and then past her. As they moved through and around her, she closed her eyes. In their wake, she heard the sound of music and trembled. Then fell to her knees and sobbed.

  * * * * * * * *

  Ordan watched as the Song circled his friends and took them away, astonished at how each of them faded as they surrendered to the sounds, emotions, and vibrations that most would call “music.” This wasn’t music, though, not really. It was both more and less than music. Logically, the sounds being combined to produce the “noise” being made most certainly was music. But it lacked something. It was beautiful, haunting, and strangely soothing, but there was no enjoyment in it. What there was, was purpose. The sounds were not the primary reason for the Song. The vibrations were. The reverberations and echoes created and left in its wake. Ordan could feel all of it, and since he could, he knew there was more involved in the creation of the Song of the Earth than sounds.

  He stood there, listening, feeling, waiting. The others were all gone, but he could feel them still. Although a part of him wondered why he had been left behind, his greatest concern was in knowing what was happening to those he cared about. He had been their emotional anchor for a long time now, and welcomed the role, as well as their trust. He sensed that invoking their bond would upset the balance of the song, so purposefully resisted doing so, even though it was second-nature for him to do so. They each depended on the other to make them whole. They never really thought of themselves as a “unit” or as belonging to each other, or even as less than whole without the others, but in having come together, they had created something more than they would have been without each other. So it was hard not to invoke the bond, to lend his presence and his understanding of what was happening. He rarely concerned himself with what the earth itself might be able to tell him because Honsa did so without even considering whether he should or could. All of them deferred immediately to Ceirat whenever she warned them of a danger or a potential outcome which would benefit them. There was no need to question whether she was right or wrong, or to ponder such things for themselves. Ceirat was always there to know. And, despite her self-centered nature, Tyran was as important to all of them as they were to her. She often provided the thorn in the rose to remind them of things they would rather not consider or take into account. Without her gifts, none of them would have k
nown about the Tadashi child, nor what was needed in order to help Denit become the Sun Goddess.

  And so he worried that, without him, his bondmates may not take emotions into consideration when listening to the Song. He could feel an undertone that disturbed him, leaving him to wonder what he should do about it. Or if he could, indeed, do anything about it at all. When Yakuza had opened his mouth to create the single note, it had been more like a battle cry than an invitation to join him. The Song had responded immediately, reminding Ordan more of an ambush than a chorus. And each of his companions had gone limp. None of them had fallen over, or onto the ground as he felt they should have. Instead, they had acted as though they had been drugged, with only the physical vibrations of the Song to hold their bodies in place. And then they had each faded from view, becoming transparent as the Song swept them from one place to the next. To Jikangai. To a place that was outside of time. And yet the music hadn’t left entirely. It was still with him. Perhaps keeping him in place? Forbidding him to follow? Was there another way to go with them he hadn’t considered?

  There! He’d been right! The harmony had changed. He could feel it on his skin. His shoulders shivered of their own accord. If Ceirat was here, he knew she would be warning them of danger. And what of the others? Gaku and Vory were unknown to them, although he’d had no reason to feel they were a danger to him or his bondmates. But Shio? He was still uncertain what she wanted, or why she had come to Midbar, keeping herself hidden. He’d felt her nearby, just beneath the surface of the sand. She had been an ally the last time they’d met, but much had changed in the world since then, and being a True Daughter of Amphedia, her motives would, necessarily, have to remain suspect. He thought he might be judging her too harshly because he was unable to feel her emotions, but would rather err on the side of caution. She, too, had been swept away with the others.